


Dancing stars (are born from Chaos)

by More_than_a_Pint



Series: The morning sun is coming (out of gloomy mountains) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rough Trade July 2016, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8175736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_than_a_Pint/pseuds/More_than_a_Pint
Summary: Ianthe Potter life is no meant to be easy, and her famous luck keeps true when she comes online at the end of the third year. She needs her Sentinel to shield her new emphatic sense and her own magic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> “You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.” - Friedrich Nietzsche
> 
> It appealed to me to create a female Harry Potter... I called her Ianthe, from Iolanthe (Peverell) a family name in the Potter family tree.
> 
> There is mention of sex between an adult man and a fourteen years old girl, nothing happens.

**June 6th, 1994**

**Great Lake, Hogwarts Grounds**

THE PAIN DOESN'T STOP. It's there, terrible and looming, cold and harsh as the things that float around her. She knows their name but doesn’t remember, everything is disappearing. She can do nothing, she is becoming nothing and the cold is stealing her breath, her memories, her life. She is not ready to die, there are so many things she wants to do, to try. And then a light, a white light and a stag. The Stag, her father. Is her dad here to take her home? Is it time to go?

No. No. She is not ready and something inside of her is growling and snarling.

She is not ready!

The wolf is a surprise.

It’s still cold and the ground is covered with stones, her hands and knees are bleeding, but she is not dying anymore. The stag is chasing away the Dementors (this is the things name!) and the wolf is keeping Sirius and Hermione safe. She forgot about Sirius and Hermione (for a bit she forgot everything). The stag is all white light and the wolf looks as real as they come, but she feels the latter deep inside her.

She is the wolf. And the wolf hates the Dementors. They smell like mould and lost things, they sound like grief and mourning cries, they are black holes that suck all the light around, unnatural things that should not exist.

The stag drives away the last monster, and the wolf stops snarling, and Ianthe finally feels herself slipping away.

 

***

 

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE WAS a man forged by loss and grieves and utter belief in his life experiences. He truly wanted the greater good but he was also sure that he was the only one to know what this ‘good’ is.

How he could manipulate Ianthe Potter and her newfound Guide Power to better his plane was becoming his conundrum.  She would need her sentinel, but who would be the best choice? The Weasleys have a rich history full of sentinels and guides, and the Longbottoms have always produced strong sentinels, then there are the Smiths and the Abbots, the Boots and the Davies (but the Davies have always been very grey and very neutral). Maybe an older and wiser partner would be better, Shacklebolt was still latent, and he was very loyal to the cause.

“Albus, how was the conference?” asked Minerva, diverting Albus musing back to the conversation. “And are you sure that holding the Tournament is a good idea?”

“It becomes every year more difficult, Minerva. No one wants to hear what the others have to say and everyone tries to outsmart each other. That’s why I approved the Tournament. I want our students to learn how others cultures think and behave, we can still teach them to tolerate and befriend different people,” said Albus.

“And Moody?” continued McGonagall, “he is unstable, Albus, and both of us know it.”

“He can teach Miss Potter a lot, my dear.”

Professor McGonagall looked utterly unconvinced. She knew Alastor Moody very well, she taught the lad and was friendly with his family, but there was no doubt that the war had left behind more than the physical scars (and his famous paranoia).

“I hope you are right Albus,” sighed her. “Miss Potter should have stayed here this summer. With such a strong empathy, the Muggle world is not a good place.”

“Minerva, we have talked about it. She is safe, and her family will take care of her. And I think that this is also a good opportunity for her to mend her misunderstanding with her aunt.”

 

IT WAS HELL. Ianthe didn’t understand why the Headmaster didn’t let her stay at school, or somewhere else, but this summer was going to be the worst to date.

Uncle Vernon was like a huge emotional leech; he was happy only when he ate or watched T.V. or babbled about how much his co-workers were stupid.

Dudley was as stupid as he looked, but there were times that she almost could feel something else, only she had no idea what that was.

And then Aunt Petunia.

Aunt Petunia was complicated, full of envy, anger and spite with her; full of love and care with her husband and son. It was like there were two Petunia and neither acknowledged the difference.

At the end of the day, she was utterly grateful to be locked inside her room, even with no food she felt way better.

Professor McGonagall had given her a lot of books about being a Sentinel or a Guide, and they helped a lot. She could meditate now, and she met her wolf in the quiet of her mind. She could sieve emotions better, but nuances still eluded her. Her mental shield was a bit stronger, but there was a big hole in it that only her sentinel could fill and strengthen. 

She dreamed of him every night. She never saw his face or heard his voice, but she touched his heart and it was _perfect_ , the perfect size for her own heart.

It didn’t matter what Hermione and Ron thought, she didn’t want someone who was _almost_ right, she wanted her Sentinel, the one she could almost touch, the one who was perfect, her perfect half.

Hermione continued to write her about how she should choose her partner, how magic could help her bond with almost everyone, how it would be better to pick someone with the help of her friends, her teachers and the Headmaster. She was so tired of these stupid suggestions.

If possible, Ron was even worse. First, he frowned about god knew what (so much envy and jealousy and possession), then he began a campaign to bond her with little Ginny, even Mr and Mrs Weasley kept hinting at this in their letters and Ianthe didn’t know how to make them understand that Ginny was _wrong_.

It was like a piece of her was missing and not like her shield, but like something ate it.

There was no way Ginevra Weasley would ever come online (and Merlin save them all from what she will become).

But among all the people around her, the ones that worried her the most were Sirius and Professor Lupin. They were so lonely and sad that they broke her heart.

Sirius’ feelings were like a black twisted mass, happy memories mixed with horrible despair and his thought were like a boy like he stopped growing up when the Ministry sent him to Azkaban. He wanted to give her a house, but she was more like a placeholder for her parents (James’ hair and Lily’s eyes; her father’s courage and her mother’s luck). He loved the memory of her, but he didn’t want to know her (Tiny Ianthe with big eyes and even bigger smiles; Old Ianthe with sad eyes and tiny smiles).

She didn’t know how to help him, and he didn’t want to be helped.

And if Sirius was the child, then Professor Lupin was the man older than his years, full of guilt and self-discrimination.

Remus Lupin was the one left behind. He was also a twisted mass of contrasting emotion and thought. He liked her and he hated her, she was a symbol of loss and mourning.

Probably this was the worst thing about the situation, she didn’t matter. Neither Sirius or Remus saw her, they only looked for the people they loved – _lost_ – (mum, dad, even Wormtail).

Exactly like the whole Wizarding World, Ianthe Potter was a symbol, a necessity, a burden.

 

SEVERUS SNAPE WAS MANY THINGS, and almost neither of those were goods, but he found himself horrified to the plan Dumbledore was sketching.

“Headmaster,” began the Potion Master. “she nothing but a girl, still a child. Shacklebolt could be her father.”

“Severus,” sighed Dumbledore, “you shouldn’t worry. Nothing untoward will happen. They’ll have a platonic bond and we’ll be able to protect young Ianthe better.”

“And let me guess, Auror Shacklebolt accepted.” Hissed Snape.

“Naturally, it is a great honour,” answered Albus. “I know your feeling on the matter, but really there is no need.”

“Kingsley Shacklebolt is _latent_ , Albus,” snarled the man. “if he doesn’t come online by the time you planned the bond, then the only way to create even a minor link is through a sexual rapport. Are you really going to give a fourteen years old girl to a man twenty years her senior?”

Dumbledore wavered a bit, but the ‘Greater Good’ was the most important thing. Everyone had to do some sacrifices, some of these were worse than others. The end, after all, justified the means.

“Severus… all of us need to do the best with the circumstance we are in. I love that girl as a granddaughter, but we also must think of the future.”

“There are different ways. There are other people. And do not think the girl will follow you, Albus. She is a Guide and no matter how good you are at Occlumency, there is no way you’ll trick her,” hissed Snape.

“I won’t trick her,” replied tiredly Dumbledore. “I’ll explain it, and she’ll understand it is for the best. And we can’t let her bond with anyone else. We won’t know if they are of the light.”

“Are you listening to yourself, Albus?” asked troubled the Professor. “A Sentinel is a sentinel of the light. Dark wizards with sentinel or guide potential are dormant because they don’t think about the tribe. You push this Albus and if – _if_ Albus – the girl survives the emotional and magical shock, you’ll have a broken Guide and a dormant Sentinel. Stop this now, Headmaster.”

Snape was beginning to think maybe the broken one was Dumbledore. He was simply ignoring his protest because they didn’t fit in the plans he made for the girl (for Lily’s daughter).

“Professor Snape I think you are exaggerating. These fantasies you have don’t appear in any of my searches,” answered quietly Dumbledore.

“They are not fantasies. The Guild do not confide its secrets to _Others_ , and do not misunderstand for how much the Guild respects you, Albus, you are _Other_.”

Severus was being as blunt as possible, but he could totally see his words were useless. The Headmaster believed he was right; probably he was going to set up the rape of a child. He didn’t know to whom confide this abomination, Minerva would be as horrified as him, but did she have the strength to oppose to Albus? There were her useless godfather and the werewolf, but what could a fugitive and a dark creature do? And he was told that the Weasley were trying to coerce a bond with their broken daughter.

Maybe it was time the Guild intervened.

Severus took a clean parchment and began writing.

 

_Dear Sir…_

 

***

 

_Dear Sirius,_

_I hope you are feeling better. How is Buckbeak? Is he still with you?_

_I know I already thanked you, but I truly truly love the Firebolt!_

_Dudley is on a diet, so Aunt Petunia put everyone on a diet, but Hermione and Mrs Weasley send me enough food._

_Do you have enough food?_

_I am dreaming a lot. The books say it is normal especially for a magic Guide since my magic is looking for my Sentinel. I hope to find him soon because I miss him a lot. …_

 

***

 

_July 20th, 1994_

_Dear Professor Lupin,_

_I am writing to let you know that the exercise you taught me this past year has been very useful._

_My senses are under control and I feel much better. I am sorry I cannot give you the gratitude of my Family, but I am still keeping this situation under wrap._

_My Magic is still a bit out of sort and I have trouble to stop Her to lash my father, it looks like your suspicion could be more real than what I thought. I am not sure what to do now…_

 

***

 

**September 1st, 1993**

DRACO WAS LOOKING FOR HIS FRIENDS and minions when he felt it. all the happiness and the light in the world got sucked away.

It felt like sickness and agony and grief.

He knew what his father would have told him if he had seen his only son – _his Heir_ – looking like he was going to puke and wail. He could hear it in his head – _We need to keep an appearance, Draco. So the small people will never question our place in the world_ – cold and harsh, biting and hurtful.

He was regretting sending Crabbe and Goyle to their compartment, he only wanted a moment for himself, to analyse his first encounter with Potter and her friends, to understand why he went always out of his way to bother her (her eyes became cold and glittering like Mother favourite emeralds). She had been as short as ever, keeping herself in front of the Weasel like the redhead needed to be protected – could she see the way her ‘friend’ behaved?

He didn’t understand his impulse to check – always check on her, where, who, what – on Ianthe Potter trouble-seeker extraordinaire, he only knew that he had a hard time trying to stop himself.

Then he saw them, and something inside him hissed and swayed, and he knew why he was feeling like this. One of them came very near and a long horrible hand almost touched his face before the thing turned around and began floating in the waggon.

Draco was drowning in his own horror, in the cold left by those monsters, in the harsh word of his Father, before something snapped inside him. The bout of accidental magic made all the glasses in the waggon shake and crack, he felt like running after those things and murder them. He was trembling and panting trying to get back the control of his magic – of his mind; she was screaming and pleading and begging inside his mind, she was crying and crying and crying. And the thing inside himself wanted to go and protect who was his (no one was his… he was no protector, he was no knight… so the dragon of the House Malfoy ran away).

Remus Lupin was watching the Great Hall full of laughing children, and the memories were ripping him apart. On the train, he protected James’ daughter from the Dementors and it was too little too late, in the green (Lily’s) eyes of Ianthe, there was no recognition but only gratitude and fear. He could only shove chocolate at her and her friends before running away like a coward. (his courage died with James and Lily and Peter; what survived was twisted and mangled like Alice and Frank minds). He looked at the Gryffindor table and nothing was different and everything was changed. Ianthe was looking the Slytherins with a frown, observing the Malfoy boy mocking her and her friends, and yet when she turned to talk to the others Lucius’ son watched her with the same expression.

“Remus, are you alright?” asked quietly Minerva.

“It’s strange, professor.”

“You can call me Minerva.”

Lupin could only muster a small smile, “I know, but it’s… I’ll feel like a naughty teenager.”

 

“DRACO,” SAID PANSY IN HER syrupy voice. “Do you want to sit together at Potion?”

Malfoy was trying to keep up an appearance of well-being and he thought he was succeeding mostly, but he truly hadn’t the force to deal with Pansy. He knew their fathers were thinking about a betrothal, but his mother wasn’t yet convinced and he hoped to evade this horrifying prospect.

“Pansy, no. I already promise Blaise to sit with him,” answered Draco.

The girl pouted and glared at Zabini, but at least stopped making a nuisance of herself. She was annoying Draco immensely: her voice was shrill and her scent too sweet, she was making him sick.

“You should change your perfume; you smell like a strawberry cake in a sea of maple syrup… it’s gross,” said Draco.

Pansy looked furious and hurt, she didn’t reply but it was clear she wanted to scratch him or something similar.

“Not very nice, mate,” whispered Blaise. “don’t you worry she’ll kill you?”

Draco rolled his eyes and went back to the food on his plate. Again the smells coming from his plate were too strong and rich, it didn’t make him hungry but nauseated. He never had trouble at eating what was put in front of him, however, none of the dishes on the table were minimally appealing.

“She wants to be the next Lady Malfoy. She won’t do or say anything until she has a betrothal ring at the finger and a marriage contract signed.”

“Looks like you aren’t too keen on the idea,” continued Zabini.

“Why should I? It doesn’t matter, it’s not like my opinion will count for anything.”

This answer shut up his friend, it was a common custom to choose the future partner of your child for the people of their class. Draco would be simply one among others.

 

**September 2nd**

DRACO LAY ON ONE OF the infirmary bed while the gash made by that stupid beast was mending. It was going well, the hippogriph bowed to him and he petted the creature and then he was stupid.

He knew Ianthe Potter didn’t want anything to do with him, she loathed him, but Draco couldn’t help himself he wanted to be noticed.

He always noticed her. Always.

So stupidity.

And Father was already trying to turn the situation to his own advantage. A dominance game with Dumbledore.

‘She’ll hate me even more.’

> “He’s faking it,” said Ianthe at once. “Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it’s worth.”

“Who’s there? Potter what are you doing here?” asked Malfoy to the empty room. ‘There is no one, but I heard Potter voice…’

> “We’re witnesses,” said Ianthe. “You said hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It’s Malfoy’s problem that he wasn’t listening. We’ll tell Dumbledore what really happened.”

Draco was beginning to get scared. He knew what he heard but the Infirmary was truly empty.

“Madame Pomfrey, please can you come?”

“Mr Malfoy, I do not appreciate being called like a house-elf,” reprimanded Poppy.

“I apologise, Madame, but I don’t feel good…” Draco was on the verge of a panic attack, his breath was fast and shallow and he could still hear people that weren’t there.

“Mr Malfoy we both know that your scratch…” trailed off Pomona, she realised that the boy wasn’t feeling good for real, he was hyperventilating and his pupils were dilated. “Draco, Draco look at me. Good. Good. Now I’m going to put under a calming charm, alright? You’ll feel better, promise.”

Madame Pomfrey wielded her wand and taking a deep breath enunciated “ _Rĕlaxas_ ”.

Draco felt like he could breathe again, every muscle in his body unlocked and his head was light and free.

“What happened?” asked the boy. “I mean I couldn’t breathe at all…”

“It was a panic attack, Mr Malfoy. Did something happened before you called me?”

Draco wanted to confide in the mediwitch, but he clearly remembered the last year when Ianthe said she was hearing voices. No one believed her and everyone thought she was a bit crazy.

“I… I don’t know, Madame.”

The witch looked dubious, but couldn’t force a student to tell her the truth.

 

**September 9th**

EVEN AFTER A WEEK DRACO had still the bandage around his arm. Everyone (even the Slytherins) believed it was a rouse to make trouble for Hagrid, truth be known the various potions and spells used to heal this kind of wound had a very contrarious effect. The last time Madame Pomfrey tried to heal him, he had a bad reaction, the gash on his arm had become bigger and Pomona was on the verge to call St. Mungo and his parents. Only Snape quick talking and the fear for Hagrid’s future stopped the mediwitch from a fire-call.

Now Malfoy was in the Potion Lab with an upset stomach from the various smells, he should have stayed in his room because there was no way he was going to survive this lesson.

The only bright side to this awful situation was watching Weasley cutting his root.

“I know what you are doing Malfoy,” spat the red head.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Weasel, but you better cut those roots with more care,” replied Malfoy.

The exchange was fun, and it helped to distract him from nausea.

Now, an angry Potter was a sight to behold, her eyes became hard and glittering like gems and her skin flushed a fetching pink, she was beautiful and she didn’t know.

He was watching Weasley and Potter doing his prep work for him when Finnigan commented on Sirius Black’ sighting.

Weasley and Potter exchanged a look he didn’t like, they were careless with theirs and their friends’ lives. It was like they didn’t believe they could die or be seriously hurt. He didn’t care about the Weasel (there was something _wrongwrongwrong_ with him) but Ianthe Potter was someone he couldn’t ignore, in a way or the other the girl was a fundamental point in his life.

“Well Potter, are you going to catch yourself an escaped criminal?” asked Draco with venom.

“Why do you care Malfoy?” answered Potter.

“I don’t care Scarhead, I’m simply wondering who is going to end in the infirmary for this stun!”

Ianthe flushed and then paled, she looked away, and began again cutting her caterpillars.

“Shut up, Malfoy! Go back crying on your arm,” said angrily the Weasel, pity Snape heard him.

“Mr Weasley fifty point from Gryffindor, you should not attack your classmate.”

Ron became the same colour of his hair and his freckles stood even more.

“It’s not Ron fault,” was the useless defence of Granger.

Weirdly Potter didn’t say anything, she had this faraway look as if she was reliving something else.

In that moment, someone managed to burn their potion, the smell was awful and obnoxious. Draco felt himself paling and his stomach lurched in revolt. He stood up and ran from the classroom.

Professor Snape found him ten minutes later, while he was being sick.

“Draco…” trailed off the professor. “Did Madame Pomfrey discover something?”

“No, she has no idea. Want to call St. Mungo… if father… if father… uncle, please, tell her you are going to help… father cannot know, please.”

“Draco, what did it make you sick now?”

“The burnt Potion… the smell was acrid and gross…”

“The smell…” and Severus trailed off again. Burnt Shrinking Solution didn’t have a strong smell. Actually, many people couldn’t say the difference between a burnt and a good one. It wasn’t the first time Draco lamented on the smell or taste, and very few diseases could ascribe both as symptoms.

“I’ll do some research,” promised Snape.

“Thanks, Uncle.”

 

**October 8th**

THE LAUGH WAS THE MOST wonderful sound he ever heard. He wanted nothing more than listening to it the whole day (the rest of his life).

“…oy... Mr Malfoy!” the voice of Professor Lupin broke the enchantment he was under.

“I beg your pardon,” whispered Draco. He was a bit scared he didn’t remember when the teacher arrived in his little nook.

“Mr Malfoy, are you well? Do you need Madame Pomfrey?”

“No!... I… My apologies Professor, but I don’t need Madame Pomfrey. I was lost in thought,” was the rushed answer.

“I see… Mr Malfoy I noticed that often you are ‘lost in thought’, you are unfocused during the lessons and all the teachers remarked about your eating habit. I know Professor Snape is your Godfather and he is ready to help you, but don’t forget also your others teachers are here,” said Remus.

Draco flushed and looked away, he thought about Hagrid in a host of troubles because of him and Madame Pomfrey still searching his condition and Uncle Sev keeping things from his parents.

“I need a promise, professor…” asked quietly Draco.

Remus sighed and felt relief, maybe the boy was ready to ask for help. He didn’t lie when he told him all the teachers were more or less worried about his health.

“Fine. I, Remus Lupin, swore on my magic and life to keep what Draco Lucius Malfoy will tell me a secret until he will give me permission to tell others.”

The ease of the oath took Malfoy aback, he put himself in a dead-end.

“I… I’m sorry professor. I didn’t think you were serious. There is nothing wrong… really.”

 

“PROFESSOR SNAPE, SIR…” began Fred Weasley.

“Here we are as requested” continued George.

“How can we help, sir?” said Fred.

“To begin with, try to speak like two people instead of one,” answered an annoyed Snape earning two identical smirks, “and tell me what you are doing to Draco Malfoy.”

The twin looked at each other and then at the professor. They didn’t know what kind of lies Malfoy went around telling, but they knew they had to tread carefully with Snape.

“Professor, we promise we didn’t do anything to Malfoy,” replied George.

“It’s not worth the hassle,” countered Fred.

Snape observed the two more carefully than ever. They were very good liars, but his sixth sense always helped him to identify lie from the truth. In this case, the Terrible Twin were honest.

They didn’t do anything to Draco.

 

**January 3rd**

MALFOY WAS WAITING WITH IMPATIENCE the end of the lesson. His Godfather told him he didn’t know how to help him, Madame Pomfrey search didn’t discover anything, and his Christmas had been horrible. Lupin offered his assistance and right now Draco was desperate enough to ask the man.

“Professor Lupin can we talk, please?” asked Malfoy doing his best to ignore Potter and her friends throwing daggers to his back. ( _He knew it was his fault, but he seriously thought that they were going to forgive the bloody hippogriff without a trial_ ).

“Naturally,” approved Remus.

“You offered me help in October…” trailed off Draco not knowing how to continue.

“I remember,” said Mr Lupin.

“I… I need help. There so many things that are strange… the food tastes weird, like too many things all together. And the smells… some are nice but some are terrific. The Headmaster always smell like lemon and fire and old books. And you smell like the forest and the night… and sometimes I hear things and there is no one around me… that day, in October I mean when you surprised me… I was listening to someone laughing, only there was no one here…” rushed Draco.

Lupin listened carefully to what Malfoy said. Weird tastes, strong smells, sounds no one else heard; in Remus’ mind, all these added to a very unexpected result: Draco Malfoy had – _at least_ – three heightened senses.

Lupin wanted to be really sure, so he went to one of his trunks to retrieve something, it was a satchel full of dried herbs and flowers, some of those were so old to have apparently lost all of their smell and changed also in appearance.

“Mr Malfoy I have some suspicion, but I need to do a little test. Please, would you identify as many of these herbs as possible?” asked kindly Remus.

Draco took the satchel and began taking a small pinch of the plants at times.

“Sage… rosemary… thyme… chamomile… roses… aconitum…”

When even the last plant had been recognised Lupin took back his bag. He could do more tests, but it was useless, the boy classified all the herbs and only someone with a heightened nose could do it.

“Mr Malfoy… Draco… do you know what is a Sentinel?” questioned Lupin.

Draco looked at him like he sprouted a second head…

“Yes… yes, I know… professor what does…” trailed off a scared Draco.

“Sentinels come online in different ways. Sometimes it is an explosion, and sometimes it is more gentle a gradual awakening.”

“You believe I am a Sentinel...”

“Yes, and I think you are coming online… probably the high numbers of Dementors on the school grounds are speeding your awakening.”

“The last Sentinel in the Malfoy and in the Black family died about two centuries ago… I… I am a Slytherin… I… I cannot be a Sentinel…”

“And yet, I’m sure you are. We can tell…”

“No one… I don’t want anyone knowing,” interrupted Malfoy.

“Draco, don’t you want your parents or your godfather to know? Or maybe the Headmaster can help you…”

“No. No. You promised me professor…” whispered Draco. He didn’t know why, but a voice inside of him was telling him to keep it a secret.

Remus sighed but the boy looked like he was freaking out, and he had promised.

“Very well, we’ll keep it a secret,” agreed at the end Lupin, “But you need to exercise to control your sense.”

“What kind of exercise?"

 

_January 16th, 1994_

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_How are you? I hope that everything is well._

_The school is still ridden with Dementors, and their sight is terrible and oppressive._

_Father, could you talk to the Minister about their on-going presence on the school grounds?_

_Would it be better to let the Aurors search the premise?_

_I am happy to inform you that yesterday Slytherin defeated Ravenclaw. Sure we won with a difference of twenty points, but I took the snitch._

_On the school topics, my lessons are proceeding very well…_

***

_February 7th, 1994_

_My dear Draco,_

_Severus fire-called your father to explain why you got such a severe punishment._

_Your father is going to talk with the Headmaster and the board, after all, boys will be boys and all that. I admit I am confused about your on-going feud with the young Potter. Yes, I understand she is a Gryffindor and you are a Slytherin, but I noticed she is the focal point of many of your mischiefs._

_She is a very negative influence in your life and you should ignore her._

_I know you do not like very much Miss Parkinson (and I admit I do not either), but there are other girls with better manners._

_Please, next time she insults you, go and tell Severus instead to dress up as a Dementors. You could have been hurt…_

_***_

_February 12th, 1994_

_Dear Mother,_

_Today I finally had my revenge. Potter went to Hogsmeade without permission._

_She has to scrub Uncle Sev cauldrons…_

***

_April 4th, 1994_

_Professor Lupin,_

_I am sorry but I cannot come to our meeting._

_I have to help Professor Snape with some potions._

_Draco Malfoy_

 

_***_

 

**July 1 st, 1994**

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

DRACO’ SUMMER WASN’T GOING AS well as hoped. Yes, Professor Lupin exercises were helpful and his senses were under control, but he was having difficulties handling his father. The man felt all wrong, his voice had a sort of undertone almost like an echo (who was he coping?), his smell was terrible like a festered wound (was it the Dark Mark?) and Draco tried his best to avoid him. His own father.

His mother, instead, was alright and he wanted to tell her but was so worried. Would she help? (He thought so). Would she tell his father? (He wasn’t sure). Would it put her in a bad position? The questions were endless and Draco didn’t have the strength to look for the answers.

Also lately his sight was coming online too, at least this was what professor Lupin wrote back in his last letter (maybe – maybe – Draco owl had been a little panicky), so he had a new array of exercises to do (not that they were difficult or something, actually they were very sensible).

The heightening of his sight was a little (a lot) exciting, it would totally rock his quidditch. He was going to get revenge for that horrible last game in April (bloody hell there were loss and _loss_ ), and he wasn’t sure Potter didn’t have some sort of weird edge (like what?), however he still didn’t have a complete grasp about his eyes dials (like the wireless); so he was carefully hopeful.

 

_London July 21st, 1994_

_Professor Snape,_

_Your missive troubled me greatly. You know perfectly well that our people do not like dealing with Headmaster Dumbledore. Many guides report something akin a soul-break and they only do so when utterly certain. Our main problem right now is that we have our hands tied, Headmaster Dumbledore and Auror Shacklebolt did not do anything, and it is not customary of the Guild to act without actual offence._

_I can only promise that we will act as swift as possible the very same moment they will put their plan in motion. I already notified the Horde about this possible breach and the High Warlord promised me his blade, his people and his bloodlust._

_Now, Professor, we can only wait._

_Yours_

_Beorhtric Egbert Selwyn_

_Lord Chancellor of the Wizarding United Kingdom Guild_

 

**July 31 st, 1994**

**4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging Surrey**

IT WAS A MONTH IANTHE was back in Little Whinging and things weren’t getting any better. Actually, they were worsening if possible; sure her control was almost complete – sometimes she slipped with nightmares – but this meant she had an almost perfect read of her relatives and it was bad ( _so many horrible emotions, they could be happy only if someone else wasn’t_ ). She could see her wolf almost every day, he refused to let her alone with the Dursleys ( _her spirit animal was smart and perceptive_ ).

What really bugged her, however, were the letters her friends wrote her. If possible, Hermione’s were becoming more obnoxious with the passing time; she was doing research on what being a Guide meant, but it seemed that the more she learnt the more annoyed she became. She had the gall to call her a ‘useful tool for the right sentinel’ like she was a broom or a book or a cauldron… a thing not even human… what the bloody hell was she reading to get herself so… so… _there were no words_.

Ron was even worse if possible, it looks like he was reading some kind of porn or something, he wrote her in the most disgusting misogynistic way; then there was the whole mummy says, mummy thinks, mummy hears… (mummy could piss off), was he always a chav? Has she been this blind until now?

Ianthe simply wanted to tell the whole world to bugger off.

“Girl come here!” shouted Uncle Vernon from downstairs.

Yesterday night for the nth time took exception to something she was doing (Dudley was on a diet and her stew last night was not light enough for ‘Duddikins little darling’) and they sent her to her room with the order to not get out until they called (it looked like they were calling).

“Yes, Uncle Vernon?”

“Get it out,” snarled the man pointing to something… or better someone, a little owl. The bird was perched on the chandelier in the sitting room, the moment he noticed Ianthe he left his resting place and delivered the letter tied to his leg.

“Thank you,” said absent-mindedly Ianthe already checking the sender.

“Girl! Tell your freakish people to stop sending these things,” ordered Vernon.

“Fine, I’ll write this to my godfather, alright?” answered meekly Ianthe.

“Your… your godfather…” trailed off Uncle Vernon, pale and scared.

“Yes, I promised to write him regularly. So how about I’ll tell him to stop with the birds?” asked sweetly Ianthe.

Uncle Vernon exchanged a look with Aunt Petunia, clearly displeased with the news that her godfather wanted to keep contact with her.

“Go back to your room, and no dinner tonight,” shrieked Aunt Petunia.

_July 31st, 1994_

_Dear Ianthe,_

_Happy Birthday!_

_I want to inform you I searched long and hard for your Sentinel, and I found someone who will be the more suitable to take care of you._

_His name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, he is a dear friend and an honourable man. Right now he is quite busy with his work – he is an Auror – but we think it will be better to bond during Christmas Holiday._

_I understand you are very impatient to meet him, but I ask you to bear with us._

_Auror Shacklebolt wish me to tell you he is still latent, I told him you are a good girl who will do what is best for everyone, and, as he knew your father, he has no doubt you are also very brave._

_I will see you on September 1st._

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Ianthe’s mind was numb and empty and she couldn’t find the strength to react. If Mr Shacklebolt was an Auror, it meant he was over twenty-year-old and he also knew her father so… so…

‘The Headmaster want to bond me with a grown up’.

Suddenly Ianthe stood up and ran in the loo, she vaguely heard her Uncle shouts but she was puking and trying desperately to not cry.

“Girl! What did I tell you?” screamed her uncle “What the hell are you sick? Petunia, Petunia the freak is sick!”

> _Excerpt_ **A Guide to Protector and Guardian**
> 
> _A Latent is a ‘potential’ sentinel, his/her talents are still inactive. Usually, a dangerous situation or a strong protective drive could trigger the awakening of the gifts. […] since the talents – the inner animal – lie sleeping latent sentinels are not able to bond with guides, however, a sexual intercourse with an online Guide can awake the sentinel through the mating drive of the ‘inner animals’._ (Sandburg 1992)

Ianthe lay on her bed, she still felt sick, her mind was still rolling with the utter horror of the Headmaster’s plan for her and she didn’t know what to do. She read again the letter, and again the words made her blood curdle, Dumbledore couldn’t be serious, didn’t he know that there was no ‘moral and ethical’ way to bond a teenager online Guide with an adult latent Sentinel? And how could this Shackle-person be an honourable man if he accepted this situation, wasn’t he aware what a forced bond entail?

Was she unworthy of a true bond? ( _freak… freak… even for your freakish people you are an abomination…_ )

Were they so…

She didn’t know what to do she couldn't write either to Hermione nor Ron, she wasn’t sure about Sirius or Lupin.

She was alone.

 

_July 16th, 1994_

_Dear Albus,_

_I have been thinking to your proposition since you write to me, and I understand and share your worries and your point of view. I also see your need to keep the girl away from the Guild, as you know my Family was completely contrary to the Guild mandate; we have always sustained that a Sentinel knows what is best for a Guide as I will know what is best for Miss Potter._

_Unfortunately, I will be outside the country until late September; but we could organise the Bonding Ceremony for the Christmas Holiday._

_Please let me know your thoughts._

_Your loyal friend,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

***

_July 31st, 1994_

_Dear Albus,_

_This morning the healer came._

_He says I have to stay in bed and move as little as possible._

_Healer Diggle – he is as delightful as his uncle – says I contracted a light strain of Dragon Pox, I should be well if I follow his orders. As such I think you should send someone else to watch over Ianthe Potter…_

***

_August 1 st, 1994_

_Dear Arabella,_

_I am sorry to hear you are sick, nevertheless, if the strain is the light one you surely could still watch over young Ianthe, couldn’t you? I cannot send anyone to you, Ianthe will probably notice new people in the neighbourhood…_

Dumbledore stopped writing for a bit, a big sigh leaving his mouth.

“Ah Fawkes, it’s so difficult sometimes. Arabella has a cold and she calls it a light strain of Dragon Pox. Do you think she doesn’t remember that dragon pox is a magical disease and as such only magical people can catch it?”

The phoenix watched his human for a bit, there was sadness in his heart and he knew that he couldn’t stay with the Headmaster for much more. The man was deteriorating quite fast and Fawkes was worried about this ‘Greater Good’ he sometimes talked about. The best thing at the moment was to keep vigil over the old man and to choose carefully the instant to act.

 

***

 

**August 2 nd, 1994**

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

HIS SKIN WAS ON FIRE. The rush was crawling his way from his back to his front, the socks were uncomfortable tight around his feet and his utmost wish at the moment was to be starkers in his bathtub.

But if he was right, this was his last sense to come online, he already tried to use the ‘dial’ (like a wireless... smart and easy to visualize) to turn off the sensitivity of his skin but he was having little to no fortune, the fact that his Father was once again going on about pureblood, half-blood and muggle-born was greatly distracting.

“Draco, do you understand?” asked finally Lucius.

“Yes, Father. I remember I have some letters to answer can I be dismissed from the table?”

“Draco, darling, are you feeling well? You look a little pale,” questioned sweetly his mother.

He mustered a smile. “Mother I assure you I am fine.”

“Then you can go, maybe after you finish with your correspondence you could try a little more rest,” said Narcissa.

“It’s a good idea, Mother. Father.”

Once in his room, Draco began undressing and looking for his silk pyjamas. He almost ran into the bathroom and turned on the tub, he couldn’t wait anymore.

The water was warm and smooth and soothed his red skin, he submerged and increased his hearing.

His heartbeat.

The shuffling of the house-elves.

His Mother muffled words and his Father replies.

The creaking of the Manor.

He decreased it again and came up for a breath, now he could finally relax and try to control his touch.

 

***

 

**4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey**

_SHE WAS THE WOLF AND she was running through the woods… was it the Forbidden Forest? It didn’t look like it… it didn’t feel like it… but it didn’t matter she had to run, run, run… she could feel it, the huge thing following her and she could feel the scream for help… her Sentinel, her Blessed Protector was calling her, screaming for her… her help, her comfort, her soul…_

‘I already found you a Sentinel, child. There is no need to look for someone else’ _said the Headmaster’s disembodied voice. ‘_ You shall stop this foolish endeavour now, Ianthe.’

_She couldn’t. She couldn’t. Her Sentinel was screaming, screaming, screaming for her. He was calling his Guardian and she wasn’t there… here…_

_‘_ I think you are forgetting you have to obey’

_The thing behind her was increasingly nearer…_

_She was a wolf, she wasn’t prey, but now she was running, running, running…_

_She heard one last piercing scream and at her feet there was a dead black snake…_

_Her Sentinel…_

Ianthe awoke with a sob. She killed him, she killed her Sentinel.

Her cry was half muffled against her pillow.

She couldn’t do what the Headmaster wanted, she couldn’t bond with Auror Shacklebolt.

He wasn’t… he wasn’t her Sentinel.

Her sentinel was online, and Shacklebolt was an undefined black mass.

She lifted her face when she felt something near her feet, and fixed in the eyes her wolf.

“We have to go,” said Ianthe. “I have to go away… we could go back to the Leaky. I am sure that Tom will keep the secret… and we could begin the search for him… Do you think he is magical? Not that it matters… but it makes the search easier…”

The wolf simply stared at her for a bit and then moved to her trunk.

Ianthe didn’t waste time, she stood up from her bed and dressed quickly and silently. Her trunk was down it the cupboard but she was sure she could retrieve it with minimal work, she took her school bag and began putting away all her scrolls and quills, luckily Hedwig was with Sirius at the moment and the owl had an uncanny ability to find her.

“Is the door still locked?”

The wolf did something because the door opened without a screech and Ianthe got out and downstairs without a noise.

Once again the wolf did something and the entrance door opened quietly and smoothly.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” whispered Ianthe to herself, and taking a big breath, got out of the house.

She lifted her wand and got on the Knight Bus when it stopped.

“Freak, hey Freak, wake up! WAKE UP!” shouted Dudley at the door of Ianthe’s bedroom.

When no reply came from the inside, he called his parents.

“Daaaad, the Freak doesn’t answer.”

Uncle Vernon already red-faced for his interrupted meagre breakfast thrust open the door.

The room was empty.

 

 

_August 2nd_

_Dear Minerva,_

_Thank you for your nice card._

_I am still on bed rest, and the Healer predict at least three weeks before I will be better._

_He said that even if squibs have no magic, we still come from magical family and as such, we can catch different strains of magical diseases._

_I have not seen Ianthe very much lately, but the Dursleys are probably keeping her quite busy…_

_***_

_August 3rd_

_Dear Sirius,_

_How are you? Are you feeling a bit better? I hope so._

_I am as well as possible._

_Yes, the Dursleys are still trying to diet, I do not know how it will go…_

***

_August 4th_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I am well, thank you and I hope the same for you and your family._

_I also thank you for the research you are doing about Guides and Sentinels, but I feel a bit uneasy to be called a ‘tool’._

_The Dursleys are still going on with their diet but I have still enough food – by the way the snacks you sent me are very nice – so I do not need anything for the moment…_

***

_August 4th_

_Dear Ron,_

_I have enough food…_

“Do you want another sandwich Miss Potter?” asked kindly Tom.

“No, thank you, Tom.”

 

***

 

**August 7 th**

**Diagon Alley, London**

RACO WAS WANDERING THROUGH THE Alley alone, only an hour ago, his mother had taken the portkey to Paris. At the end, he didn’t have the courage to tell her his secret, it didn’t feel right and he was still worried about his Father.

He wasn’t really watching where he was going, too used to people moving out of his way, so he was totally surprised when someone collided with him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t wat…” trailed off Draco, fixing the person in front of him. “Potter.”

Ianthe was looking at Draco with wide eyes, almost like she was seeing someone else. Draco took a bit breath ready to (maybe) insult her when the most delicious smell assaulted his nose.

It was flowery but not too sweet, like the wind on a broom on a perfect spring day.

“It’s you,” said Ianthe.

Draco’s hand snatched hers and he felt like… he was whole.

“Hello Potter,” was his reply.

Ianthe smiled and everything quieted down, then she began giggling.

“It’s funny… my school arch nemesis is also my sentinel.”

Draco smiled too, it was funny and ironic. Then Ianthe’ smile disappeared and she smelt like distress and panic and fear and it was overwhelming.

“Potter, what…” began asking Draco.

“They’ll hurt you. They won’t let us…” trailed off Ianthe.

“Who? Ianthe who is going to hurt me?”

Potter was pale and trembling and Draco had no idea how to help her.

“Ianthe are you alone?”

She simply nodded “I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron,” added.

Malfoy wanted to know why she was at the pub and not at her house, but he realised they were in the middle of the Alley and sooner or later someone was going to note them.

“We need to go somewhere we can talk… can we go to your room? I have to be in front of the bank in two hours to go back home,” whispered Draco.

Ianthe tightened her hold on his hand and without an answer, she turned around and started going back to the pub.

Maybe the Goddess was watching over them because no one noticed them and they slipped inside Ianthe’s room with no one being wiser.

Once inside Draco could stop himself, he hauled her near in a crushing hug, his nose was buried at her nape smelling the perfect odour of his Guide. Ianthe too was hugging him tight and near, relieved she found him, relieved he was well.

“Who is going to hurt me?” whispered again Draco.

Ianthe tensed up and tightened her arms (to keep her sentinel safe).

“Yesterday, I ran away from home,” began Ianthe “I had a dream the night before, my sentinel died and I could do nothing to help. The Headmaster want to bond me with a man, Auror Shacklebolt… he said it’s for the best, but I knew he wasn’t my sentinel… and… oh, Malfoy they were going to give me to an old man I never meet, and you died in my dream…”

“I’m going to kill them,” snarled Malfoy while caressing his Guide’s hair. “Please, don’t cry… I’m here… I’m alright.”

Draco murmured a soft lullaby to her, trying to calm her, but at the same time, a million of thoughts were running in his mind.

“Ianthe, could the Headmaster find you if he tries?” asked Draco at the end.

Potter stiffened once again in his arm. “I don’t know… but I can’t go with him, Mal… Draco. I won’t go with him.”

“No more crying Po… Ianthe, no more. We are here and it’s quite weird, but we are here… I don’t like the smell of your tears…”

This made Ianthe laugh a little, “The smell of my tears, Malfoy?” teased the girl.

Draco frowned a bit, “You should call me Draco… I like when you say my name…”

Ianthe smiled and cuddled a bit more in Draco’s hug, it was weird. She was wandering through the Alley thinking how to look for her Sentinel, and the very same bumped into her.

She found her Sentinel and her sentinel was Malfoy.

“When did you come online?” asked the Gryffindor.

“I began on the train; we believe that the Dementors triggered the awakening.”

“We?” questioned lightly Ianthe, in her heart, she was burning with jealousy and possessiveness, Draco was HER Sentinel, hers to take care.

“Yes, Professor Lupin helped me,” answered Malfoy.

“Oh, good. He is a great teacher…” trailed off Ianthe a bit miffed with Remus – he could have told her there was an online Sentinel in Hogwarts.

“My touch came online five days ago,” added Draco; it made Ianthe think, she left Little Whinging five days ago because she believed her sentinel needed her, the very same day Malfoy came completely online. “Ianthe we totally need to talk… your friends won’t be happy about me, especially after the debacle with Hagrid…”

The girl took a couple of steps back, enough to put a bit of space between her and the Slytherin, she kept looking him in the eyes – he has pretty eyes – “You were a prat.”

“I’m always a prat, it’s a magical gift,” replied the boy, Ianthe laugh a little because it was so true.

“You’ll apologise to Hagrid, alright?” asked the girl and was relieved when Draco nodded his agreement. “About my friends… I don’t know what to do. Hermione is behaving abysmally and Ron is… there is something wrong with Ron, and the Headmaster is… I don’t know what’s wrong with the Headmaster but he wants to bond me with a latent sentinel, so he’s probably crazier than ever.”

Draco was doing his best to keep his inner fury in check, but it was very difficult, these people were a threat to his Guide – his Ianthe – and so many offences were hard to ignore.

“The Headmaster is powerful, Ianthe, he could track you without a problem. He probably doesn’t know yet you ran away,” said Malfoy. “My granny left me a cottage; it is heavily warded, it’s under _Fidelius_ and unplottable. You’ll be completely safe there. We…”

“How do we go there?” asked Ianthe, she didn’t want Dumbledore to find her and force her to bond with a monster.

“I have a portkey, not even my parents can go there. We can go now. Put your thing away in your trunk and get your owl,” instructed Draco. “I’ll hold the trunk and you’ll hold my wrist.”

The girl began putting everything away under the watchful eye of Malfoy, she was feeling well and whole for the first time since she came online; it took only a few minutes to be ready to go, but with Hedwig’s cage in a hand and Draco Malfoy’s wrist in the other, Ianthe was all set for the next step.

 

**Nanette’s Cottage, Devon**

THE PLACE LOOKED LIKE A PAINTING, it was so pretty. It smelled of lemon and wax and every piece of furniture looked old but well cared for.

“Oh, it so nice,” whispered Ianthe.

Draco too looked around, he missed this house. His Gran used to take him here and read him fairy tales upon fairy tales.

“I fear there is little to nothing to eat… we have to think about a good method to feed you,” said the boy, he began noticing how thin Ianthe was, there was no way it was healthy and his instincts were hissing at him to take care of their Guide. “I wish I could call a house-elf from the Manor, but it’s dangerous all of them are bound to my Father and will tell him you are here…” trailed off Draco noting Ianthe’s growing discomfort. “Are you well? Did I say some…”

“No!” interrupted abruptly the girl. “No, you didn’t say anything bad, I promise. It’s only… maybe we can try to call Dobby… he likes me and he doesn’t belong anymore to your father.”

“It’s a good idea… we can try… but it’s probably best if you are the one calling…” muttered Draco, Ianthe fixed him and smirked, probably guessing that the boy had never been nice to the elf.

“How do…”

“Think about him and say his name.”

“Dobby!”

With a pop, the little elf was there, in the foyer of Draco’s cottage.

“Ianthe Potter, miss!” greeted the elf.

“Hello, Dobby… how are you?”

“Dobby is well, miss,” answered the elf before looking around and seeing Draco. “Young… young master… Dobby didn’t know you are here…”

“Calm down, Dobby. Miss Potter has something to ask you,” said Draco.

“Dobby, Dobby please I need your help,” tried Ianthe.

“Ianthe Potter needs Dobby’s help? Dobby wants to help Ianthe Potter!”

“Good. Good. I need a good house-elf to take care of me, Draco and this house. Can you be this elf, Dobby?” asked kindly Ianthe

Dobby looked around the cottage, and back to the girl to switch to Draco. He truly wanted to help brave, generous Ianthe Potter but was worried about the young master.

“Dobby, I make you an oath,” intervened Malfoy. Dobby was surprised of the offer.

“An oath, Young Master?”

“I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, do swear on my magic and life that from this moment on, I will treat every creature that will cross my road with the utmost respect. So mote it be.”

“Oh… well done Draco,” praised Ianthe, she was delighted when the Slytherin blushed a furious red. “What do you think now, Dobby? Can you help us?”

“Something different with Young Master. Did Young Master get spell-damage?” asked Dobby.

“No,” giggled Ianthe. “It’s not spell-damage… it’s… do you know what is a Sentinel? And a Guide?”

“Yes, miss. Sentinel and Guide protect and guard.” Answered the elf.

“Very good, Dobby. I am a Guide and Draco is my Sentinel… do you understand, now?”

Dobby looked at the children in awe. A true Sentinel and a true Guide, how lucky was Dobby, and dear Ianthe Potter was a Guide and Dobby’s friend.

“Yes, miss. Dobby understands. Dobby takes care of Ianthe Potter and Ianthe Potter’ Sentinel and house. Dobby is a lucky elf.”

“Thank you, Dobby,” said the Gryffindor.

“Yes, thank you, Dobby,” echoed the Slytherin.

 

**August 11 th**

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

FOR THE LAST THREE DAYS he had gone back and forth between the cottage and the manor, Draco was already regretting leaving Nanette’s Cottage, he wanted to stay there with Ianthe to talk and try mending their difference, but it would have alarmed his Father; still it was very difficult being so far away from his Guide – Ianthe… beautiful Ianthe was his, and he was hers.

“Draco,” said his Father. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, Father,” answered the boy, standing up and following his father in his study.

“Today, after your mother left I met Pancras Parkinson at the club. We talked a bit and came to a conclusion,” stated Lucius. Draco dreaded the conclusion the two men reached but he was ready for the fallout that was coming. “Pansy is of the right age to betroth and, naturally, comes from the right family. Sign the contract here and here, Draco,” finished his father handing out an officially-looking parchment.

Draco knew this was coming, he knew since last year actually. The last September, he told Blaise he was ready to do his duty, but that was before. Now, now he had a perfect match hidden in his cottage and his future looked much more appealing.

He could in theory sign this contract and delay the ceremony until such a time he could safely cancel it, but he didn’t want to live a lie, he didn’t want Ianthe to be his little secret.

He wanted to become a man she could be proud of, he wanted to protect her and her people and also some of his friends. He didn’t want to be like Lucius.

“No,” replied clearly Draco. “I’m not going to betroth or marry Pansy. She is becoming a horrible person and I don’t like her at all.”

Lucius was, firstly, taken aback and then flushed a brilliant red – he was furious.

“Draco, you’ll do what I tell you to do! We need an alliance with the Parkinson and as such you are going to marry the girl.”

“No! if you want this alliance you can marry her yourself. If you think you can intimidate me enough to sign this idiocy, you better think again,” declared Draco. Then he took a deep breath. “I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, do swear on my magic, life and soul to marry only the one who is the perfect match to my magic, life and soul. So mote it be.”

Lucius could only gape at his son watching the magic from the vow settle around him.

“I want you out from this house. I want you to go now, Draco, you are not my son.”

The boy turned around and marched out if the study, went to his room and gathered all of his things before taking his portkey and going back to his Guide.

 

_Dear Minerva,_

_If possible, I am feeling even worse than before._

_Healer Diggle says it is normal. He says that since we have to use a mix of potions and muggle medicines it can cause some aftereffects, but he is hopeful I will get better…_

***

_August 7th_

_Little Whinging_

_Dear Selma,_

_I have wonderful news. My up-to-no-good niece is with some of her friends (useless children the lot of them) since we are free Dudley suggests we go on a nice holiday. He did so well this year between school and his diet, that Vernon and I agreed._

_We are going on a cruise; we are very excited!_

_We will be back on August 31st…_

***

_Mrs Figg_

_We are going on holiday. We will be grateful if you can look out for our house._

_Thanks,_

_Vernon Dursley_


End file.
